Sometimes when I’m all alone, standing on a winding trail that is snaking its way up a mountainside, I look out across the valley and see only what God made. Wave upon wave of majestic pine trees stretching to reach the sky, their uniqueness lost in their joint mission to reach ever higher. The shades of green that are shown in all those tress are beyond what I can describe. Light greens of fresh buds. Deep green of mature needles. Bright green where the sun shines fully. Dark green in the shadows. Green plays upon green, making each patch that catches the eye look different than every other.

I stand in wonder of the diversity in a single kind of plant, then wonder more at the uncounted types of plants I haven’t yet seen. My eye is caught by a particularly old and gnarled tree. It hangs on to life on the edge of a cliff. The ground beneath its roots has long since fallen to the valley floor below. Whether  it picked a poor place to grow or its own roots broke the foundation it grew into, it hangs on to the cliff, fighting gravity, clutching to the rocks with its massive roots. It sits at such an angle you would bet it will fall at any moment, but it holds steady even as the wind threatens to blow me off.

I look closer at the tree and I see God’s handiwork again. A whole world is caught up in this single tree. Its bark is thick with deep crevasses – home to a multitude of life. There are a dozen mosses that I can see. A vining plant circles its way up from the rocky ground to one of the up reached branches, there to open its beautiful array of white flowers – visited by bee and hummingbird. The bark bulges where burls press outward from the trunk and branches. On a limb I see a nest of some unknown bird, off looking for a meal. In the trunk a squirrel has found a home. Gnats fly as a cloud in its shade. Ants climb its trunk in search of sap.

I sit and watch as the squirrel carefully removes seeds, one-by-one for one of the trees cones. It pulls off each scale and lets it drop after picking the seed from its base. Around and around, like I might eat corn, the squirrel turns the cone into a stick. And while he’s careful to get every seed, I do see a few fall. They drift in the wind as they slowly fall to the valley below. I wonder if in a hundred years if one of those seeds might turn into a mighty tree like its parent, or if it will fall and die, never getting the chance to even start growing.

As I sit and watch God’s creation, the birds, the trees, the very mountain I sit on, I see that the light is fading, that everything is growing darker. I wonder at the cycle of the day, of the cycle of life, of my own cycle. I hear God calling me. He calls me to this spot to see his wonder. It uplifts me. My spirit sings. I go back down the mountain and share my joy with others, but over time the joy fades. Then I look up to the mountains and I hear God’s call, and I come. Back up to the mountains to see my God and to be refreshed.

As the stars start to peek through the gathering darkness, I wonder. Could I feel the refreshing of my spirit if I just stayed here all the time, or do I need to feel it slip away so I can feel the joy being restored. Did God make it necessary for me to go down the mountain so I could share this joy with others. Am I part of God’s cycle of bring his joy to the people who have hidden themselves away from his wonders.

I think I like that idea. I’m part of God’s plan to bring his joy down to his people.

Thank you God for using me in a way that lifts me up as well.